The Poppycock Chuckleworthy Tribune by Nonsense Humor

Nonsense Humor Magazine Presents:

ThePoppycock Issue #176

Tribune

April 2019

Join Our Merry Crew! General Meetings Thursdays at 9:23 PM Breslin 217 Artist/Writer Meetings Fridays 2:30 PM Breslin 216 nonsensehumor@gmail.com @NonsenseHM 2

Contents Cover - Mark Melchin Mailbag - Staff Writers Editorial - Ashley Vernola What is a Train? - Nathan Elliott The Fall in Value of the House of Usher - Rosario Navalta Lost Horse - Lizzie Frank 5 “Germs” That Definitely Can’t Kill Me - Jordan Hopkins Essential Potion Kit - Peter Soucy I’m A Doctor Now Shut Up and Eat Your Cigarettes - Brandon Allen How The Other Half Lives - Brandon Allen Data For the Genteleman - Staff Artists Data For the Layman - Staff Artists A User’s Guide to Evolution - Tori Jenkins By Heavens, Society!? - Ariel Leal 19th Century Dating Profiles - Lizzie Frank Interview With a Guy Who is NOT a Vampire - Brandon Allen Owning the Partisans from my Hot Air Balloon - Jordan Hopkins Best Ways to Go Fast - Lizzie Frank Have you Seen This Man - Lizzie Frank Jack the Ripper vs. Jack the Ripped - Lizzie Frank Man’s Inevitable Fate - Tori jenkins New Redcoats - Sam Riebs Industrial Revolution - Tori Jenkins 65 Long Years of Trying to Make Steam Happen - Peter Soucy Methinks Some Skullduggery Is Afoot - William Faber It’s Not a Phase, It’s Industrialization - Nathan Elliot Back Cover - Tori Jenkins and Mark Melchin

1 4 5 6 6 7 8 8 9 10 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 20 21 21 21 22 23 23 24

Executive Board Editor-in-Chief Ashley “Loco For That Motion” Vernola Managing Editor Ariel “Eldritch Whore” Leal Assistant Editor Lizzie “Poopycock Cuckleworthy Triboob” Frank Head Writer Jordan “Partisan? More like the only Part I Stan ;-)” Hopkins Assistant Head Writers William “Dead Mouse The Fifth” Faber Robert “The Cummunist” Kinnaird Art Director Tori “King Michael Of Mellow The 69th” Jenkins Assistant Art Director Sam “Sir Party Boy The Seventh” Riebs

Design Directors Mark “Oliver Twisted My Nipples” Melchin Sam “Sir Party Boy The Seventh” Riebs Social Media Manager Brynne “Grizzly Bear...Grizzly Bear?” Levine Treasurer Peter “The 1802-1804 Fiscal Recession” Soucy Assistant Treasurer Lilly “The Only Ten I Son” Tennyson Web Team Bethany “Arkwright” Foster Rosario “All Coppers Are Cads” Navalta James “Cancers Doth Behave Like...” Factora

Video Head Spencer “The First Settler of Catan” Thurmond Video Team Nathan “The Only Ten I See” Elliott Emmett “The Mathlete” Goebbel Faculty Advisor Amy “If I Submit This Issue As My Project Will I Get an A? Love, Ariel” Karofsky Moral Support Nathan “The Only Ten I See” Elliott

Staff writers staff artists Jordan “Partisan? More like the only Part I Stan ;-)” Hopkins William “Dead Mouse The Fifth” Faber Robert “The Cummunist” Kinnaird Lizzie “Poopycock Cuckleworthy Triboob” Frank Veronica “Corn Law” Toone Peter “The 1802-1804 Fiscal Recession” Soucy Mattie “Dance Dance Industrial Revolution” Brown Brandon “The Cunning Linguist” Allen

Tori “King Michael Of Mellow The 69th” Jenkins Sam “Sir Party Boy The Seventh” Riebs Mark “Oliver Twisted My Nipples” Melchin Bethany “Arkwright” Foster Emily “World War 1? What Did World War Win?” Hart Brynne “Grizzly Bear...Grizzly Bear?” Levine Lizzie “Poopycock Cuckleworthy Triboob” Frank William “Dead Mouse The Fifth” Faber

contributors Emmett “The Mathlete” Goebbel Rosario “All Coppers Are Cads” Navalta

Mailbag Q:How many factory workers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? A: 6; 5 to operate the guillotine and 1 to screw the lightbulb in. Q: I want to live a long life, but I’m poor. Will this be a problem? A: What am I, your mommy? Q: Help my daughter has the measles A: Well, then you better go catch it! Q: Is ur horse and buggy running? A: Well, then you better go catch it! Q:I lost my son, can you find him? A: Again? We’re all out. Q: Hearye! Hearye! I shallst venture to the localeth McDonalds. Dost any persons craveth anything? A: big mac. Realy big. Big mutton. Q: Forsooth? A: It’s pronounced “foreskin” :-) Q: UWU? A: i know not of what you speak foul wench. Q:I write to thee, my darling, of my venture in East Kansas, how doth thee fare, my love? A: I have dysentery.

Q: Is it frankenstein or Frankenstein’s monster? A: Frankenstein’s muenster cheese. It’s actually lizzie frank. A2: Also like in the book his name is literally Adam but we all still call him monster like wtf? A3: Ok buddy we get it, you read. A4: How dare you to assume I can read. Q: What would you recommend? A: big mac Q: If a tree falls in the forest, and another tree falls on top of it, what if they accidental kiss? A: That’s gay Q: Book. A: This isn’t a question? Q2: No, it’s a warning. Q: Gold mine? More like Gold MINE haha A: Come write for us. Q: I’m trying to liberate the proletariat but my marxist pamphlets are dummy thicc and the clap of their pages tell the bourgeoisie where I am A: Is this English? Q: Anyone up for some revolution? A: Not the Beatles’ finest song. Q2: It’s 1869 what the fuck is a beatle A: yummy

Q: Help, I’m short? A: No. Q: What would you do if we accidental got vaccinated? A: I got scurvy ;^( Q: So I found this tapeworm? A: No, that tapeworm found you. Heart emoji Q: What does the N stand for in Nonsense? A: You know what it stands for. Q2: No, the second n Q: What do you want from blockbuster? Because it’s old A: Hey maybe don’t flex on blockbuster like that Q2: I also watched captain marvel Q: Can anyone please teach me how to read I don’t know how? A: <left intentionally blank> Q2: gshubbehehehxhbdbhdc Q: Can anyone watch my baby real quick while I shop? A: I’m baby Q: Is biphobia real yet? A: It will be.

cuck

Editorial by Ashley Vernola

Good day, readers! How are thou’st? I hope thou are all well. Here we are at our second to last issue of the semester. I gotta admit, it’s pretty bittersweet; but this issue is a fun one, and it’s one that been pitched for a long, long while now, sooooo Welcome! You’re now reading The Poppycock Chuckleworthy Tribune…Or as you know it best, Nonsense Humor Magazine. So what is up, what is up? Things are certainly, as always busy. This semester has seemed to kick our butts a bit, but we’ve never let that stop us from creating. If anything, it just means we rush two issues before this semester ends. But it comes with the territory… Nonsense is truly going through one of its greatest stages of transitions since I’ve been here. As I’ve most likely stated in several other editorials that have gone unread, most of our e-board currently are graduating seniors, which is NUTS. So basically, all of our main positions are going through some turnover, and now, this club is getting ready to welcome a whole new generation of Nonsense, a new one that I hope will bring a lot of prosperity and fortune. I think a lot about what Ariel

and I, in our tenure, have done with this magazine. I think our biggest goal was to always expand it into something larger than it was. Branch out onto the internet. Copy Clickhole. Try and push video. And some of it worked, and some of it, I hope, landed as planted seeds and will be taken to the generation ahead, and that all of you will go on to continue to carry the torch of this club as it continues. So, to those who come carry the torch after us, I warn you right now that Beth has found three gray hairs on my head during this semester alone. Nonsense is an incredibly large living being that requires all the tender love and care in the world. It’s a living breathing body that’s constantly changing and evolving and that’s what’s honestly so special about it. It’s something that grows as you do, that grows with you. I want to save a lot of the sappy stuff for my very last editorial, but I want to just emphasize that this job is something that comes with so many benefits, even with the gray hairs. Nonsense has always been a home for me, and I hope that in my tenure, I have curated one for the rest of you. I can only hope that that will continue. It’s a home with a lot of leaky faucets, a few holes in the floor, way too many

ants, and vanities that fall on your head (yes—my home has certainly become a metaphor for Nonsense) but one that always cradles me in warmth when I get home. Yeah, I just said that. So, what comes next for Nonsense this semester, huh? I’m sure you’re all sitting on the edges of your seats. Well, as I said we have one final issue left; it’s a double issue featuring the Baby of some of our most prominent members and of course, one of Ariel’s longest running jokes. I won’t spoil it now, but I will say, it’s gonna be a fun one. We have our Variety Show at the end of the month (4/26, Cultural Center Theater) which will be so so so fun. William has been working on a video about us to get us some online traction. We keep trucking every week, and sometimes that’s what really matters. So that wrap it all up, essentially. As aye, grammercy for reading, thank you for maybe knowing what grammercy means, thank you for picking this up, and for hopefully not throwing it out. We doth this all for thou. Godspeed, and until our next. Sincerely, Ash <3

A A

What Is A

Train?

penned by The Good Sir, Nathan Elliott penned by The Good Sir, Nathan Elliott

usage of such a device robs the Hungry ofusage theirofprecious and well-earned Oats, such a device robs the Hungry making Trainand an Oat-Thief, as of their the precious well-earnedand Oats, making the Train an Oat-Thief, and as any upstanding citizen of the Crown any upstanding of the Crown knows, Thieverycitizen is a crime unless done is adelicious crime unless done soknows, in theThievery pursuit of Capital. so in the pursuit of delicious Capital. On top of being an Anti-worker ScounOn top of beingseems an Anti-worker Scoundrel, no person to know how the drel, no person seems to know how the Train functions. It supposedly uses a Train functions. It supposedlyEngine, uses a ” but device called a “Combustion device called a “Combustion Engine, ” but neither I nor my Colleagues know what neither I nor my Colleagues know what those Words mean together. The Boat those mean The Boat uses anWords engine, but together. of the Steam variety, uses an engine, but of the Steam variety, which everyone knows is a reliable and which everyone knows is a reliable and trustworthy means of industrial Power. trustworthy means of industrial Power. However, the action of Combustion is From what I know about this Train PheHowever, the action of Combustion is From what I know about this Train Pheharsh, and I can scarcely think of a useful nomenon, and I know several persons harsh, and I can scarcely think of a useful nomenon, and I know several persons function for it. Personally, I don’t think I with knowledge of Locomotives, this function for it. Personally, I don’t think I with knowledge of Locomotives, this would enjoy it if my engine shattered into Vehicle is entirely incapable of directly would enjoy it if my engine shattered into Vehicle is entirely incapable of directly Shards of Fire and Lost Dreams. It would feeding anyone, as it requires no Urchin Shards of Fire and Lost Dreams. It would feeding anyone, as it requires no Urchin be just as disappointing as discovering or Horse. However, Imagine the sheer be just as disappointing as discovering or Horse. However, Imagine the sheer that had formed formed amount of Oats it must take toto feed thatthe theCarriage Carriage Urchins Urchins had amount of Oats it must take feedsuch such aaUnion raising their theirOat Oat a massive Beast. Since allall other modes Unionafter after already already raising a massive Beast. Since other modes Salary. However, it would only be half of transportation require a well-fed Salary. However, it would only be half asas of transportation require a well-fed disappointing out that thatyour your Worker, for even the mighty Captain disappointing as as finding finding out Worker, for even the mighty Captain noble Horse had resigned herself toaa must partake of the Oat to steer the Ship, must partake of the Oat to steer the Ship, noble Horse had resigned herself to Life of grazing the Fields away from the it stands to reason that the Train must Life of grazing the Fields away from the it stands to reason that the Train must Lights of Industry. The Sadness to follow desire the cronch as well. So where do Lights of Industry. The Sadness to follow desire the cronch as well. So where do and the thethought thought all those Oats go?go? I see nono mouth wouldbe beimmeasurable, immeasurable, and all those Oats I see mouthononthe the would of it now upsets me. Yet, to be Sad one Front, (but that also might be because the to be Sad one Front, (but that also might be because the of it now upsets would have to know Love, and I don’t Photograph is grainy.) Nonetheless, the would have to know Love, and I don’t Photograph is grainy.) Nonetheless, the s a Personage with immense knowledge ofsthe Transportation Industry, I a Personage with immense knowlmust confess this new Locomotive, edge of thethat Transportation Industry, I must confess this like newto Locomotive, or “Train” as thethat Toilers call it, or “Train” as the Toilers likealltoaccounts call it, absolutely confounds me. By me. By all accounts I’veabsolutely seen, it is confounds an undeniably inferior I’veofseen, it is an undeniably inferior Mode Transportation with little to no Mode Transportation with little toAfno means of of long-standing functionality. means long-standing functionality. ter all, howofcould anyone favor a vehicleAfall, howa could anyonetofavor a vehicle thatter requires rail system work? To be that requires a rail system to work? To be quite frank, it sucks. The Carriage, howquite frank, it sucks. The Carriage, however, requires no Rail, only a minimum ever,Horse, requires Rail,ofonly a minimum of one or no a Pack Urchins, either of one Horse, or a Pack of Urchins, either of which shall be rewarded with a hearty of which shall be rewarded with a hearty serving of Oats following the journey. serving of Oats following the journey.

6 bed - 69 bath - listedby by Rosario Rosario Navalta 6 bed - 69 bath - listed Navalta

Gorgeous manor for sale. Out-of-style, but Victoriandilapidated-chique so the windows are a bit posh, but the stairs creak with the ghosts of the Mad Woman quite charmingly. House cleans itself, but don’t go into the basement. Pets welcome as sacrifices. If you hear someone banging around in the tomb out back, just pretend you believe The Mad Woman is dead and banging ends. Eventually. If you see a man wandering the halls, simply close your eyes and say “Your sister is outside,” and ignore the soft caress of something gentle almost-there. Don’t bother trying to get warm either; that chill’s permanent and means you don’t pay AC in the Summer months. Value’s gone down because of some kind of Pentacostal-WitchcraftEelektreecitee split the place in half. Perfect for exercise and a mistress or two. Mind the gap.

think anyone could ever Love an Explosive Oat-Thief on ever Rails.Love an Explothink anyone could sive Oat-Thief on Rails. My Disappointment and Disgust of this My Disappointment and Disgust of thisdeny new Transportation aside, I cannot new aside, deny thatTransportation the Train is fast. TooI cannot fast, from what that Train is fast. Too fast, what I’vethe been told. Though somefrom of lesser I’ve been told. Though of lesser thought worry aboutsome the effects on the thought effects to onthe theenbody, Iworry worryabout of thethe damage body, I worry of the damage to the environment at large. Speed and Time are vironment at large. Speedorand are directly proportional, so Time my Acquaindirectly proportional, or so my Acquaintances at the University say. Though I tances at the University say. Though I only heard the Information in passing, I only heard the Information in passing, I must say that the Consequences remind must saya that the Fiction Consequences me of Cheap Novel. remind Imagine me of a Cheap Fiction Novel. Imagine taking a journey along the Coast for a taking a journey along the Coast for a trip away from Industrialized Lands, but trip away from Industrialized Lands, but your tranquil journey suddenly ends your tranquil journey suddenly ends when Time fractures and you experiwhen Time fractures and you experience the Past, Present, and Future all at ence the Past, Present, and Future all at once and in no particular order. Your once and in no particular order. Your spatial relation to the Universe also spatial relation to the Universe also disintegrates, and everything becomes disintegrates, and everything becomes closeand andfarfar simultaneously, And it’s all close simultaneously, And it’s all because of your selfish desire for reprieve because of your selfish desire for reprieve fromthe thelong long Days Work leads to the from Days of of Work leads to the Cataclysm that destroys all of Time Cataclysm that destroys all of Time andand Industrybecause because you decided to take Industry you decided to take the the Train instead of the Carriage, you GodTrain instead of the Carriage, you GodlessOat-Thief Oat-Thief loving Class Traitor. less loving Class Traitor.

name: Quicksilver Hermes

age: 469 handsome: very objective: kill

• last seen falling down a well • burned as a witch in a past life • can’t speak any human language, but is able to deposit raw thoughts directly into brain (painful!!) • has the ability to manipulate reality

5 “Germs” That Definietly Can’t Kill Me by Jordan Hopkins

What say you, old sawbones? This thing that ails me is called A ““germ””? I know her not! Do you think me a fool, surgeon? This is the year of our Lord 1881 after all! We are male, English, and invincible! Absolute codswallop, I should say, and I will! That a creature no bigger than a mite of the finest Indian cocaine could ever assail a virile and taut man of good social standing such as myself is ridiculous. I find myself so incensed as to pen such a missive, a complete and taxonomical listing of such “”germ””s and how easily I would dispatch such vagabonds. What ho, onwards to the listicle! 1. The Flu A flu vaccine? The ailment of children, old fogies, cuckolds? I should think not! My

humors are well-protected by my European countenance, I fear no reprisal from such imaginary bugs. Any such demon of the blood can be easily dispatched by proper application of gunpowder and opium. Nice try, partisans! 2. Smallpox A cough derived from cows, nothing more! Such silliness is beyond the worth of my time, really. I shall simply strangle each cow to death with my callused aristocratic hands, and all will be well. I will eradicate this “germ”, if even they do truly exist, and as such save all of Europe from this weakling’s ailment. And think of all the excess beef for the starving vagrants! I will be hailed a hero, surely. There is little to no way this could backfire.

3. Louis Pasteur himself The man behind the mask! The “germ”-peddler Pasteur will be no match for my battle-hardened fists. I will surely teach him not to play on the fears of the commoners solely to sell his hot milk! Truly foolish. I’ll kick the shit out of him, I don’t give a fuck. bitch 4. The French HA!

I ‘m a Doctor, Now Shut Up and Eat your Cigarettes! by Brandon Allen

In this article, I, Dr. Stratatoski Von Hindenververdonsaxon will be discussing the various things you should be doing but aren’t. Are you experiencing any of the following: -The need to breathe constantly? -Cravings for food and water? -Dying? (Inside???) -Dying? (Outside???) -Dying? (sideways)!?! Well this is a comprehensive list of everything you need to do. Now, please, do not say to me “but doctor”, no! I am doctor, this means I am automatically right. First, here is a list of things which one should avoid, ALWAYS! Trust me!

• Spices: Spices are horrible for you. Do you know where spices come from, that’s right, NOT ENGLAND, and anything from Not England can’t be good. Except for tea… and coffee… cotton… cocaine… especially cocaine! • Being insane: Being insane is no good for anyone, especially our perfect Industrial Age society. So don’t be insane, don’t worry, this is easy if you aren’t insane. • Fruits and vegetables: No… just no. Meat, bread, sewer water, tea. All you need, none of this “fresh fruits”, tomfoolery! • Mercury: Mercury bad! Case closed! Now is the list of all the proper things that are essential for a healthy life in

the era where people believe that cocaine is good for you!

1. Mercury: The human body has mercury, at least all of those children that came to my office did, and by god, that means that the body needs mercury! Lots of it! Mercury is metal, iron is metal, iron is in blood, gold is metal, and gold is good, so Mercury go to brain! Huff mercury, line hats with mercury, and eat some lead while you’re at it! 2. Electricity: Several tests in my basement have shown that one must have a healthy amount of electricity running through body. Are you man who is impotent? Come to my basement! Are you woman who is acting strangely? Come to my basement! Are your children acting strangely? Send them to my basement, maybe they need cocaine! Is the pet dog acting weird, send him to my basement! Actually, I want only electrocute the dog. I don’t like dogs. 3. Cocaine! Cocaine is good. I am using cocaine. I feel good. Cocaine! Body ache? Cocaine! Soul ache? Cocaine! Drug addiction? Cocaine! Make soda with it, go directly into nose, inject into spinal chord! I could really go for some coke rn…

4. Radium: Recently found glowing in the depths of- ahem! Uh, Radium uses the new science of radiation! This is essentially light that causes your cells to change and mutate uncontrollably. If that doesn’t sound like healing, I don’t know what is, which I do! Because I am Dr. Stratotki Van Hindervenverdersaxon! Look at that medical license I got at the barbershop! My graduate school, the butcher’s shop, made sure I know to cut the people open AFTER they’re sedated! 5. Anus: Lastly, one absolutely MUST have strong anus! You must make your anus tight. This is the best way to combat cholera! If anyone comes to you with that “boiling and filtering” the water or, “just drink clean water instead” hornswogglery, give them a punch in the eye from Dr. Stratosphere Von Hindenburg Saxophone, that’s me! How do you tighten the anus you may ask? I have formulated a simple exercise. Clench! You must clench the anus! 1 2 3 5, four hours a day, this coupled with everything else listed will assure you are glowing with health (and not only because of the radium!). (But seriously you want some coke?)

*om nom nom* 9

HOW THE OTHEr HALF LIVES

BY BRANDON ALLEN

Monthly Spendings of a Cultured Man

Top Hat

A Man Has Only Two Feet

Places I Tried To Lose My Sinful Little Son

The Distinguished Gentleman's Almanac

My Time In the Queenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Navy

Showing the life of the modern elite through the most sophisticated of numbers (420, 69, et cetera).

Diet

Has Anyone Seen My Boy

By the Heavens! Society?!

the ritual should be complete then. Let us accompany our guest so we may witness the dawn of a new era.” “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but we can’t exactly witness dawn when it only just got dark out, and I literally just climbed all those stairs.” “Worry not, dearest companion. We won’t ever be needing stairs again in the future I’ve secured.” The duo eventually reached the room that Inspector Horny found, obviously getting lost along the way as well. Inspector Horny held a horrified expression, reading through ancient tomes that spoke of a cursed icon with green hair and paper-white skin, along with a new race of improved humans; Gamers, they were called. “You were never meant to find this room, Inspector,” said Jones, holding a gun at the hip like old-timey gun owners probably did. Startled, Horny spun around, still holding a terrified expression. “You seem frightened. Don’t worry, I only wish to improve the human condition...starting with the elimination of people like you.” “Sexy people?!” “Cops, Inspector, cops. You see, Jones is my name but it is my last name. My first name is ACAB. You may henceforth refer to me as ACAB Jones.” Lightning struck, signalling a literal thunderous applause from nature itself. “I must know, ACAB Jones... why did you do it? Why did you take the life of an innocent person I was never able to find because your house is so fucking hard to navigate?” “That there is your first well - that right there is one of many mistakes you’ve made, Horny. Neither myself nor my sexually appetizing assistant killed anybody ever and please don’t criticizing my house, its complexity makes it fun.”

by Ariel Leal “It would appear there is a murder afoot! And I, Inspector Chaddeus Horny, will get to the bottom of it!” exclaimed the devilishly sultry Inspector. Horny stood in front of a roaring fireplace wearing a groovy coat; wearing only a groovy coat, accompanied by leather slippers. To be perfectly honest, Inspector Horny hadn’t the faintest idea how this particular destination was reached. Horny only remembered ripping a fat ass hit of opium surrounded by loved ones. “Actually, mate, the murder’s already happened and tweren’t just the foot but the whole bloody body,” interjected a disembodied voice down the corridor. “The body was bloodied?” “No you blasted idiot, I just meant the body as a whole!” the voice grew nearer. “The body’s in a hole…?” “Oh for chrissake…” sighed the voice, now appearing in the doorway in the shape of a strapping young creature equipped with blonde eyes, blue hair, and a chippendale uniform. “Look, mate, since Jones instructed me never to leave this estate and telephones haven’t been invented yet and you’re the only other person in

a five meter radius, would you mind...I dunno...dealing with this whole murder business? The body’s next to the boiler downstairs, down the long corridor, through the chartreuse door, second hallway to the left, aquamarine door, through the short corridor and then it’ll be the three doors down.” “Three Doors Down! Who knew an American rock band from Escatawpa, Mississippi could be involved with a murder?!” Inspector Horny darted down the unnecessarily complicated path to the boiler room, obviously getting lost along the way. The chippendale paused for a moment before walking back down the long, dark corridor and reaching the stairs that would eventually connect with the top of the tower, where his master conducted a series of alluring experiments and unfortunate events. “Jones,” the chippendale whined, out of breath from the climb. “We’ve got another one... stupid as they come...brain fried from constant consumption of opium.” “A figure of authority?” asked a particularly sexy voice from behind the piles of dead horses. “An inspector no less…” “Perfect. The ingredients for

“If not you...of course! The books! You’ve been using these dark rituals to gradually shatter the very fabric of our dimension, allowing one particular entity to poke through occasionally and kill! That explains the weird anachronisms and absurdities in this article! My only question is...which entity?” ACAB Jones motioned to the book Inspector Horny was holding, unable to suppress a grin. Inspector Horny read the cover and dropped the book in sheer terror. “By the heavens! Society?!” “You see, Inspector Horny, without cops, the world must adhere to some type of structure. I think this one would be rather sexy, and with that, I will now take your life.” “No, wait! I’m only a food inspec-” but it was too late. ACAB Jones, the clear hero of this story, pelted the pistol at Inspector Horny’s forehead, resulting in an instant and shockingly gory death. Horny’s blood spilled onto the pages of the book while ACAB Jones and the chippendale watched in horror. The ritual had been corrupted, and their plan compromised. Instead of eliminating cops, there were double across the globe. Weed became illegal, Gamers became subject to humiliation, and cell phones were invented. Society became a malicious growth that spread across the cosmos, leaving only capitalism in its wake. No one was saved. It is said that Society continues to infect the universe at large and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that we still live in one.

19th Century Dating Profiles By lizzie frank

Friar Patrick, 30 Likes: God, potatoes, praying Dislikes: sodomy, fiddle music, pagans Occupation: Hermit

Serf Carmichael, 18

Lady Elizabeth, 22 Personal Motto: You have to play the game to win the game. I killed my sister and then married her widower because her dowry had the fatter pig, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. Needs in a partner: Only sibling, wealthy, owns land. Doesn’t get weird when they find out my last 23 husbands were murdered (by me)

Occupation: Criminal Resides: South Lankanshirestown Something not many people know about me: I’ve had typhoid fever longer than I haven’t had typhoid fever.

Me Occupation: theoretical physicist experimenting with quantum cosmology Likes: returning to the 21st century, mint chocolate chip ice cream Dislikes: Using time machines while high, accidentally getting stuck in the 19th century My worst fear: to be tar and feathered by those American sirrahs! After I die: empty my pockets and throw my body in the river

Sister Gertrude, 19 Occupation: nun omg my friends set up this account for me, I consider myself to be in a long term relationship with God. dm for more information ;)

Interview Interview With With aa Guy Guy Who’s Who’s Not Not aa Vampire... Vampire... By Brandon Allen I write this now as a precautionary tale. I have equipped myself with knowledge imparted from arcane songs of old. What I have done on this night was something which no fool, nay, no fool nor nobleman nor nine inch nail nor nickleback fan would dare to bring themselves face to face with what I’ve witnessed... also Vampire Weekend. I am a biographer and recently I was asked to go and speak with a music composer in the Carpanthians as to the night of his house burning. As I entered the strange land of Transylvania via some form of horrific metal bird, he was already awaiting my arrival, no doubt by use of his supernatural precognitive abilities. Clad in some bizarre, darkened spectacles and a black coat of leather, he gazed at me fixedly.

He continued on, prattling as if I would believe this facade. I watched as he so boldly poured the red substance right before me, imbibing it as a means of intimidation before continuing, also, I could faintly smell the scent of tomatoes but I am certain still that was unrelated...

Vladimir Von Drake: Uhhh, nice cape dude... [Using his vampiric wiles in an attempt to seduce me no doubt...]

I to he: Please, tell me more of this “FIEER”, please. [Me not know what fire, unless storm gods make angry at trees]

I to him: You’ll not take me you scourge of the night...

The fucking Vampire: Yes, well, um, I was the only survivor... we didn’t want to live next to that pyrotechnics engineer, but dad said the property value made the house a steal. I miss when he and my sister and I would go- WHAT THE HELL BRO!

Vladimir Von Drake: Huh? Hang on let me turn off the tv. [Of course, he was attempting to steal my soul with this dastardly “T-V”, his long black hair resting by his shoulders...] Von Drake: Now, yes, it was horrible, my, my family, they all died in the fire that nightI to he: Aha! Because your family was being tried for witchcraft! And the villagers burned your house down, but you escaped because of your dark powers! Von Drak: What? Wha-What? Um, you need something to drink before we start? I to he: Do you have... garlic milk!!! Vampire Dude: Um... no?

VD: I survived because my sister managed to break open the kitchen window... the last thing I heard her say wa- did? Did you just throw a piece of garlic at me? [And indeed, I did throw a piece of garlic at him, alas, this strange Nosferatu’s nose knows to give noes to my garlic cloves. I follow MY nose sir! And I know for a fact, the undead say no to garlic cloves, look at his nose... nose look like garden hose. Y’get me?]

As I dashed the holy water I stole from that church bathroom in his face, I could see this vampire was now enraged, yet he still stood there before me, my heart raced now. The monster removed his black leather coat and darkened spectacles to reveal eyes burning with hell fire! Pretty sure he’s a vampire: You know what, get the hell out of my house! Get back on your plane and just go! I’m done with this interview. I stabby Dracula: What is this “plane” you speak of!?!

I jumped at him and with the steak I cooked for dinner last night, I vanquished this... this tyrant of the night! This dark hooligan! This, this... man who sucks blood in a non sexual though sometimes sexual way and turns into a bat sometimes! I cannot tell a lie, I’m running out of names to call him. Dracula: What the hell is wrong with you! I held my cape over my face, to shield mine self from this scourge of darkness. No blood sucky: Die vampire! Man’s not Vampire?: What! You think I’m a vampire! I am idiot: Wait, you’re not? Regular guy: What! I came here with you from the airport this morning! Vampires don’t exist you idiot! Literally, why: Hi ho! Then what be that fandanglous implementation which protrudes from thine pochette? Oh...: Ummm, I won’t lie I’m kind of into this right now... Consequently I was relieved of my position at the Eastern Eastern European Editorial, or E-E-E...E! as we had so abbreviated it. Perhaps using this new genre of music which has modeled itself from the geological formation of minerals does not the best research material make for the supernatural. I’ve considered now, that perhaps, this man was indeed, a guy who isn’t a vampire...

Owning the Partisans From My Hot Air Balloon By Jordan Hopkins

Ladies and gentlemen of the magistrate, thank you for having me here today. There’s been a lot of misinformation, and while that may have been my only intention literally the whole time, I certainly did not mean and could never possibly have expected things to go wrong. Things don’t go wrong for me, you see. Even when I crashed my rich uncle’s carriage full speed into my other rich uncle’s butterfly observatory, the police were quite kind and understanding, and even filled up my pint before they sent me on my way! So you must truly understand just how little thought I put into the consequence of my actions. I believe this absurd level of ignorance totally absolves me of any guilt, no collusion, thank you! I must say the whole thing is ridiculous, your honor. Are we not a society of reason, of logic? Do we not value free speech above all else? I argue that there is no more important man in any society than he who speaks the truth, he who stands on the soap box in the center of the town square, foaming at the mouth like a man possessed, screaming conspiracy theories at unaccompanied child laborers. That vagabond is the foundation of our own democracy. I am that vagaband. You are

that vagabond. We are all...that vagabond. So when my highly customized “Grand Aerial Navigator”™ arrived in the post early before my third tea, I must say I was ecstatic. Finally, a chance to see Paris from the air! And at a measly 135 pounds! Why, I could purchase several tons of bread for such a fair price. But instead I bought a hot air balloon. Finally, I had an appropriate outlet with which to extoll the free speech the rich and powerful are afforded. And it is my god given right to scream my opinions from the safety of the air like a highly annoying bird of prey. Nothing angers me more than partisans, your honor. First of all, they’re “workers”, which I have absolutely no emotional energy for. I know you members of the court have experienced the constant harassment of the laboring class, and their calls for ”””””bread””””” and ””””due process”””””. These liberals are not due anything! Only we, those divinely ordained with wealth and wary of its evils, can handle the responsibility of defending the people from dangerous new technologies, such as hair dryers or canned food. It would be my greatest pleasure to dispel the knowledge of their plight to

them, as they are clearly incapable of doing it themselves, the poor devils. So it was up to me to impart my freedom onto them. Still to this day I cannot understand their ire, my lord. I know the truth is difficult to take, especially when it’s being screamed at you by a rich man on the internet hot air balloon. But I did not account for them screaming back, your honor. The most horrible things - you should feel bad for me, honestly! I’ve clearly done nothing to deserve this. And the tomatoes were a bridge too far. These peasants were stifling my free speech! I think they should be the ones on trial, to be honest. I’m really just asking for my balloon back. Who’s free speech do you really care about, mine or theirs?

Ways to go REALLY Fast By Lizzie Frank

Are you tired of moving soooooo fucking slow? Missing a limb or two? Down in the dumps ever since you were born with clinical depression decades before SSRIs were invented? Point is, you need to go fast, or “gast,” as I refer to it, a shorthand abbreviation that’s much quicker, as it combines two short words into one even shorter word. Well, look no further. I have a job that I made up myself, called speed-ologist, and I have dedicated all 26 years of my very long life to the study of gast (just a reminder: that’s a fast way of saying “go fast”). This document will function as a compilation of all the best ways known to Man to gast. Good luck gasting, my friends!

Car

This is the #1 way to gast. It’s simple, effective, and bad for the environment! If you can bodysnatch enough corpses to afford a nice Nissan Altima, you can get basically anywhere on paved roads. Shit, do we have paved roads yet? Shit do we have Nissan Altimas? Do we even have cars? Why did you let me get this far into the description! That took so much time, and for what? This entire paragraph is a total gast fail. Now it’s a gslow (go slow, in case you couldn’t figure that one out, or figthat1ut, as I would say).

Run

Have you tried running? Well you should. It is very fast. I will warn you, you must have two working legs to participate in this gast method. Unless you are a dog or some other quadruped, in which case you will need four working legs, as the term “quadruped” suggests, quad meaning four, and ruped meaning leg. Running is very simple; it is just like walking except faster. Some might call it “the gaster’s version of walking.” I call it that. I’m the one who thought of that, for the record.

HUGE bird…

I’m talking a fucking massive bird If neither driving (no car) nor running (no legs) are available for you, this is the next best thing. Try to find a HUGE bird… I’m talking a fucking massive bird that could lift you tenderly off the ground and carry you gently in its massive talons to wherever you need to go. Pros: Very fast. Cons: almost impossible to find a big enough bird these days, and even if you do, you might get accidentally shredded in its talons. Also, no way to steer. You gast but you just kind of end up where you end up. But challenge builds character - and so does getting hopelessly lost in the woods, losing blood at a furious pace. From the talon wounds, of course. But don’t worry ladies, there are still ways you can gast! Unfortunately, activities like driving, running, and being flown around by a HUGE bird… I’m talking a fucking massive bird just aren’t ladylike, and if you attempt them you will be placed under arrest. Still need to gast? Here are all the ways a “Woman” can fulfill her need for speed!

Broomstick. The end!

{man’s inevitable fate}

Get ready for the new Red-Coats...

een now gr e r ’ y e ! Th

65 Long Years of Trying to Make Steam Happen By Peter Soucy

In 1698, I found myself losing my vision and lung capacity in a bleak coal mine called “The Anus of England.” I watched as water was taken out from above by a single bucket attached by chain to an iron box powered by steam. This was the sheer power of the first steam engine. It blew my mind, and then it blew up the mine. Everyone died, but God brought me back to life. He had a Plan for Me. He said, “Thomas Poohs, you are my servant and my wife’s brother (ed. note: long story), go out and preach the word of steam, which is my piss, but even warmer.” I told God I would devote my life to steam, and I did. He told me I would never die until steam happened. I tried all over England, in the coal mines, in London, and in the other, worse coal mines. Everyone thought that steam was the Devil’s piss, but I assured them that this piss was of the

Lord. Everyone just kept saying it was too hot to be God’s piss because God has the bladder of a cold-blooded Argentine Horn Frog, but I told them that God was a cold-blooded Argentine Horn Frog, but with the bladder of a border collie. Everyone kept throwing tomatoes and tomatoes filled with rocks at me. I finally reached to God for help in 1763. My body was thoroughly damaged from tomato rocks, but my lats and/or tri’s were totally shredded from carrying a steam engine around for 65 years. God told me to go to the promised land of his people: Scotland. By the time I reached Scotland, both my ears had been stolen and someone glued all my hair to the palms of my hands. I was a man without hope, hair...or ears, still carrying a very large and extremely hot steam engine. I finally came upon a man named James Watt, who told me my engine sucked

and killed me on the spot. God then reincarnated me into James’ body, and we lived as a single human body with two souls stuck inside it for far too long, but at least being able to fuck all the time without anyone knowing was pretty cool. With our two souls together we were able to swim twice as fast and also invent a “crankshaft” for our engine. We called it a crankshaft because the word is funny. With the crankshaft we could turn a wheel in a circular motion, but that is as far as we have gotten. I guess this is the end of the line for the coal powered steam engine. An automated wheel could never replace a horse-drawn carriage. A wheel without a horse is like a body and soul without an extra soul—super fucked up if you think about it. I’ll never make steam happen! I am cursed to immortality!

Methinks Some Skullduggery is Afoot ! by William Russell Faber

Listen well, methinks some skullduggery is afoot! (A man I didn’t recognize murdered and ate my neighbor!) Verily, this did arouse my suspicions! (I will carry the weight of what I saw forever.) Wellaway! (Holy shit!) Erelong the beasts in the abandoned aumbry did make of him a second reflection. (I watched two rats eat his eyes out.) Soothfast, the sight did bebother me. (I vomited for twenty minutes despite not eating that day.) My longfather would have vowed justice for the man, so I essayed the same. (My grandpa once killed a man for pissing on his lawn, and I have an intense societal pressure to live up to his greatness.) Verily, I did begin an independent inspection to find the rapscallion since the bobbies were indisposed. (the police were too drunk to help, so I had to do it myself #ACAB) I yode to good Flimothy’s abode for hobnobbery and nuncheon. Over dessert we swunk up a plan to capture the vagabond. (I went to Flimothy’s place and binge-ate four pies to drown my trauma. He only offered to help me so he wouldn’t have to deal with me purging two pounds of figs in his sitting room.) Eftsoons, we had some measures that, taken well, would uncover the criminal that

dared to disturb our kind suburb. (We came up with something I hoped would catch the man that, I would like to remind everyone, killed and ate someone in the alley beside my house.) The days passed swith, and I soon found myself leaning against my home in that fateful backstreet. (Before I knew it, I was posing as bait in Murder Alley.) Gadzooks! (Fuck!) Flimothy always expects me to thole some wanion in pursuit of some ethereal guerdon. (Flimothy always does this shit.) I waited longtime. (I waited a long time.) “No skullduggery does haunt us this night,” I said to myself, cheering. Just then, a shadow did move apace across the square in front of me. I braced for the coming tussle. (I promptly shat my pantaloons.) The stranger, with long loping strides, did not tarry in his approach of me, and assailed me with vigor. (Pretty soon, he was upon me and stabbing me a LOT.) I had no time to combat his onslaught (many stabs), I did my best to battle the foe. (I flailed my arms weakly, not unlike a small baby.) One strike did knock off his mask, which had appeared as a flesh-like human visage. Beneath it, shining like a

cruel beacon, was the face of Flimothy. By all the misfortune under God’s yellow sun! This was a twist I didn’t anticipate! (Oh fuck, it was Flimothy the whole time! I never could have seen this coming) Exposed, the recreant craven dashed off. I stood for some time, aghast. (I found the one thing worse than watching cannibalism live and in person!) What jolted me to my senses was the scent of the blood streaming down my front. It reminded me of something familiar, yet distant. Yoicks! (Whoa!) “The pies!” I exclaimed. (The pies were people.) Lying in the alley, steeping in a pool of mine own humor I wondered: how could I, Chessellweckthington, be the victim in someone else’s story? This man, it seems, was born only to die..With my investigation in ruins and my organs punctured, I awaited the golden hand of God. (I peaced out of existence.) The End* *Okay, there’s like another 30 pages of this stuff, but I’m not editing it. The plot just becomes a sadder version of Sandlot. It’s best if you just accept that he dies here and move on.

It’s Not a Phase: It’s Industrialization by Nathan Elliot

Dearest Mother, While I do appreciate your concern for my well-being, I must insist once more that I will not be returning to the family farm. Despite your claims that I’m “egregiously inept at all tasks involving higher thought,” I have opened quite the impressive paperclip factory in the heart of London. No “pea-brained simpleton” could do that, I can assure you. My partner in business, Lord Kingly Knightman, has ensured me that our venture shall remain most profitable and sustainable. Mother, the future looks bright. Your Son, Matthew Smokk Mother, No, Lord Knightman is not a con artist or a scoundrel or a rogue. He has a degree from the University of Moosetrench, the sister school to the prestigious Oxford. I’m told it’s in a land called Queens, which sounds like a lovely place for high society to gather. And no, I’m not a bad judge of character. I would never give just anyone money. The other day a worker asked if he could be paid early and I rebuffed him so harshly that he cried about how he couldn’t feed his family. Does he sound like someone who should be lent money? I think not. Also, I am eating a healthy

amount of potatoes, thanks for asking. Yours, Matt Smokk Mother, I don’t know how to make myself any clearer. There is nothing for me at the farm; my hands belong guiding the mass of workers along their way, not tilling the fields. Your concerns about this so called “unionizing” seem absolutely ridiculous. The workers can’t join forces, they’re both spineless and mindless. How do you think we get them to work for twelve hours a day? I’m also fairly certain gatherings of that kind are illegal. Besides, Lord Knightman and I treat them fairly, and usually remember to pay them on time. Yours, M. Smokk Dear Mother, Good God Almighty, You were right! These suspenders are phenomenal! I no longer feel a constriction around my midsection when I wander the factory! Truly, technology is the answer to all of our ills. Speaking of which, Lord Knightman and I were walking about the grounds the other day when a worker accosted us. He called me “bourgeois” and

then hastily left the grounds. He may have been a strange fellow tgfgo left work without permission, but he was the first worker to ever compliment me! Things are taking a turn for the best! Your Bourgeois Son, Matthew B. Smokk Esq. Dearest Mother, The world has gone sideways. God has abandoned us. They are knocking at my door and making demands for “their” money. Lord Knightsman forgot to pay them again and has also forgotten to come back to work. I can hear them jamming paperclips into the lock. This tool use suggests primate level intelligence, who would have thought they were that capable! Why didn’t you warn me of their conniving ways before Mother? You pride yourself on being such a know-itall with your encyclopedias, but couldn’t predict this! Nonetheless, I must not falter, for the working class would never do anything drastic to someone of my standing. Forever yours, Matthew Beston Smokk Esq. P.S. Sorry about your son. Long live the Revolution!

I WANT

TO COMMIT MASS

TAX EVASION